Orphan on Baker Street

Thirty Ninth: Cookies

It's quieter in 221B and smells like baking cookies as opposed to wet dirt.

"Mrs. Hudson," I call out, walking over to our flat past the stairs. I push the door open and go to the kitchen to find Mrs. Hudson scrubbing on a plate.

"Would you mind checking on the cookies, dear? Oh, and what's going on next door?" she asks casually. Crouching in front of the stove, I see that the cookies are flat but not too flat. There's a light browning around the edges, so I open the door.

"Just a... robbery," I say, sliding an oven mit on. Then I take the tray out and set it on top of the stove. "Maybe we should get a security system," I suggest nonchalantly. Could the mound of dirt just be a coincidence?

"That would be a good idea. I haven't a clue who I'd go to, though," she chuckles.

"Oh, I could just ask Sherlock for some help."

Mrs. Hudson sets the last plate on the rack to dry and pulls her yellow rubber gloves off. "Did he come in after you?"

"No, but he'll probably be over soon. There wasn't a body," I say, glancing at the cookies.

Then my phone rings, and I pull it from my purse. It's Rickey.

"Hello," I chime, setting my purse on the counter and walking into the sitting room.

"Mickey! I didn't think you'd answer," he confesses. "What are you up to?"

"Well, uh, not too much. I'm waiting for cookies to cool off," I tell him with a smile.

"Amazing! I'll be right over, then," he laughs. I chuckle with him and for a split second, I was scared he was serious.

"Nah, you don't want these. They're chocolate chip," I say, smiling over at Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen. She sets out a plate and spatula beside the cookie sheet.

"That's even better! Let me throw on some shoes," Rickey exclaims through the phone. I laugh again.

"Seriously, Rickey! You won't like them."

"And how do you know that? Honestly, who doesn't like chocolate chip cookies?"

I smile down at my boots, which are pacing slowly around the room. "So, um, did you enjoy dinner?"

"Yes," he says almost immediately. "It was great! That's actually my favorite restaurant. And that Sherlock guy seemed pretty cool."

"Yeah, he is. He plays violin, like me," I say happily.

We talk about Sherlock for a little bit before Rickey says, "How did he know my mom had a boyfriend?"

"Deduction," I say softly. "That's how he, um, works. He deduces people and situations and tells you how it is."

"People as in strangers?" He sounds different, maybe mad, now.

"I guess; I mean, it is his job. I've never seen him do it to someone's face before, though." The smell of cookies still fills my nostrils, and I let out a soft sigh.

"He knows more than that about me; is that what you're saying?"

I nod before realizing we're on the phone. "Yeah, I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't think you'd remember that part or that you'd brush it off." There's a short silence.

"My mom's boyfriend... he's an alcoholic. Tell him that." Rickey's voice loses all of its thickness as he says this. It deflates like a balloon; like the one I got for my 6th birthday at the orphanage - ever so slowly and delibterately, like it knew it made me sad, but it didn't want me to be.

"I really like you," I mutter softly.

"I really like you, too," he replies. His voice sounds like it's growing, and I smile... again.

"I'm sorry about... your mom's boyfriend. And I'm sorry for Sherlock."

"Nah," he chuckles. "Don't apologize for him." Rickey seems to stop himself there, and I tilt my head curiously.

"You looked very, very nice today," I tell him. "You look good every day, actually. It was just amusing to see you in khakis."

"I hate khakis soo much," he groans through the phone. "It's such a stupid color."

"And it's too professional," I join in. "They certainly don't look comfortable, either."

"Exactly. Even if they were jeans in a khaki color, I would not wear them. Even if they were the most comfortable brand in the world," Rickey stops to laugh. "We should do that again sometime."

"Yeah," I say too quickly. "I mean, yes, we should. And don't feel obliged to wear khakis." He laughs at me, and it fades as if he were walking away from the phone.

His voice returns at a regular volume. "There's a comedy coming out that I want to see. Do you think maybe next week we could go see it - just me and you?"

My eyes widen as I nod quickly. "Sure," is all I say.

"Great! Well, I'm going to try to get some sleep. I've had a long day. Night, love," Rickey says hastily.

"Night," I reply breathlessly before hanging up. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm grinning.

"Was that Rickey?" Mrs. Hudson asks with a small smile.

I nod quickly and walk over to her, giving her a hug. Then we start to nibble on the still-warm soft cookies. Sherlock walks in and leans on the doorway between the kitchen and sitting room.

"You know something about that mound of dirt, don't you," he tells me. It was worded like a question, but he wasn't even asking. I roll my eyes.

"Not now, Sherlock," I say, wiping my chocolate stained fingers on a napkin. "It's been a long day."

"No it hasn't," he retorts. "You're only saying that because someone else did... Were you on the phone with Rickey earlier?"

"Yes, and he wanted me to tell you that his mom's boyfriend is an alcoholic," I say sourly. He just shrugs, as if he were leaning closer to abusive.

"Oh, that poor boy," Mrs. Hudson sighs. "Would you like some cookies, Sherlock?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he replies, glancing at the plate which still holds a nice amount of the dessert.

"I guess the rest will go to John," she says, getting a small tupperware box.

"May I take some to Rickey, too?" I ask. Then I glance over at Sherlock, who's staring at me. I stand up right in front of him. "What? You wanna fight?"

"No violence in my kitchen, and yes, you can give Rickey some," Mrs. Hudson says quickly.

As she finishes, Sherlock stares down at me and replies, "You'd die before I had the chance to. You could break your neck bending it back that far just to look up at me."

"That's tall talk for someone below me," I retort with a smirk, taking a step back. My neck was hurting...

"That's tall talk for a short person," Sherlock says in the same tone, holding back a smile.

"Wait," I frown. "I have a doctor's appointment early tomorrow. I should sleep."

"Or maybe you're just a coward." Sherlock moves so I can walk past him.

"Maybe I don't think you're worth it," I say over my shoulder. As I enter my room, I hear him chuckle.

+
A/N:
I apologize if the layout of Mrs. Hudson's flat is confusing. Later today, I'll probably make a definite sketch of it since the show doesn't really look into it that much.

Thanks for reading!